Thursday, December 25, 2014

Thank you for your support over the past year (well, years now) -- it is a great pleasure to be able to share my stories with you. I hope you continue to find as much pleasure in reading them as I do in writing them. I know I'm not curing cancer or bringing about world peace, but if I provide a few hours entertainment and escape, I'm well satisfied.

Whether you celebrate Christmas or not, I wish you much joy and happiness. I hope the coming year brings you health and happiness.

Wednesday, December 24, 2014

Ricky-Joe put down
his guitar and made a couple of notes. The new song was coming along. Not
easily, because a drop of his heart’s blood was in every word, but it was
coming. And maybe someday Don would hear that song on the radio -- or more
likely Spotify -- and remember…

I'd shorely hold up
the ceiling of the darkest mine shaft for you

I’m caving in, you
cave in too

Cuz diamonds come
from coal, it’s true

I’m caving in, you
cave in too

The meter
was a little rough. Don had always said timing was Ricky-Joe’s problem. But it
was no use thinking of Don now. Their second chance at love had gone up in
flames with the fire that had destroyed the Bonsai orchard. Don would never
forgive him and Ricky-Joe couldn’t blame him. Only a fool would leave his
guitar in the bright sunlight where a cruel and random sunbeam might glance off
those steel strings and spark a raging inferno. You only got so many chances in
this bottomless mine pit of a world, and Ricky-Joe had wound up with the shaft.
Again.

He wiped a tear
away and made another notation on the chord chart.

The door to his
motel room burst open and Don charged in. Ricky flew to his feet.

“Don!”

Don looked
exhausted beneath the grime and coal dust. Actually, it was smudges from the
smoke, because it had been a long time since Don had worked the mines. Thank
Jiminy Cricket for that, but was it really an improvement if he had to go back
to being a butcher’s apprentice and killing baby cows? Beneath the weariness in
his sapphire eyes was a twinkle.

“Ricky-Joe.” Don
held up something in his big, strong, workmanlike hand.

Ricky-Joe’s eyes
popped at the vision of the small and twisted plant. “Donnie, is that what I
think it is?”

Don nodded
solemnly. “Yonder little fellow survived that conflagration that took out all
his leafy kinfolk.”

“A baby bonsai,”
breathed Ricky-Joe.

“Babe, I know you
feel to blame for what occurred in the orchard yesterday. I know you must be
planning to run away to Nashville
again. But this little limb of greenery is the symbol of our love. A love that
can withstand --”

“Something funny?” Jake asked.

“Hm? Oh.” I showed him the cover of the paperback. “I found it in the drawer of the bedside
table.”

His dark brows
rose. “A Coal Miner’s Son? I guess it
makes a change from Bibles and phone books.”

“You ain’t just a-kidding.” I smiled at the green plaid flannel pajama
bottoms he wore. We hadn’t had much time for jammies and such in our previous
acquaintanceship. I kind of liked the, well, touch of domesticity official
sleepwear brought to the festivities.

Jake crawled into
bed beside me. His skin looked smooth and supple in the mellow lamplight, his
face younger. He smelled of toothpaste and the aftershave he’d worn at dinner.

“I thought that
meal would never end,” I said. “It felt like we were sitting there for years.”

“There did seem
like a lot of courses. The food wasn’t as bad as I expected though.” Jake
glanced at our hotel room clock. “Hey. It’s officially Christmas.”

“So it is. Happy Christmas.”

"Merry Christmas." He nodded at the
book I held. “Were you, er, planning to read for much longer?”

I tossed the book to the side. It made a satisfying thunk as it hit the wall. “No,”
I said, and reached for him. “I shorely wasn’t.”

Tuesday, December 23, 2014

Baby, I’ve been here beforeI know this room, I’ve walked this floorI used to live alone before I knew you.

Yeah, once upon a time. Halle-fucking-lujah.

The first time he’d heard that song it had been in that very
building. Cloak and Dagger Books. It had been around this time of year. Not quite this
late in the season. The song was on a Christmas album that Adrien had played a
lot. Rufus Wainwright. Jake had never heard of Rufus Wainwright before then.
Never heard the song “Hallelujah.” Now it seemed to be on every time he turned
on the radio.

What the hell did it even mean?

And remember when I moved in youThe holy dove was moving tooAnd every breath we drew was Hallelujah

Such a weird song. Such a weird time in his life.

It was all over now. Over and done. And he did not believe
in wasting time on regrets over the things that could not be changed.

Should not be changed.

But here he sat in his car, watching the dark and silent
building across the street.

Sometimes it seemed like a dream, those months. Ten months.
Not even a year. How could the most important relationship of his life have been
the briefest?

But that’s how it felt sometimes. And that’s what he would
tell Adrien if he had the chance. If Adrien came home alone tonight, Jake would
get out of his car, cross the street and try to tell him…something. It was
Christmas Eve after all, and if there was ever a night for holding out an olive
branch -- for asking for forgiveness -- this was the night.

That’s all he wanted.

That’s all he’d ever wanted those other nights he’d parked
here. Waiting for the right moment. Trying to get the nerve up.

Maybe there’s a God aboveBut all I’ve ever learned from loveWas how to shoot at someone who outdrew you

You could refuse to take a phone call, but it was a lot
harder to turn away from someone standing in front of you. Too hard for someone
as soft-hearted as Adrien. No, Adrien wouldn’t turn him away. Not on Christmas
Eve.

But he wasn’t coming back tonight.

It was past midnight
now. The windows above the bookstore remained dark. The surrounding streets
were silent and empty.

Adrien would be at the Dautens’. Or at Snowdon’s.
He’d be with people who loved him. Which was where he belonged. It was where
everyone belonged on Christmas Eve.

And Jake…had spent too long sitting here already. He could
not afford to arouse suspicion. He did not want to have to lie. Okay, compound the lie. He turned the
key in the ignition.

Still, engine idling, exhaust turning red in the taillights,
he waited a few minutes longer.

The stars above the city lights twinkled with cheerful
indifference, blazing that cold and broken
hallelujah.

Monday, December 22, 2014

Sitting under the mistletoe(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe),One last candle burning low,All the sleepy dancers gone,Just one candle burning on,Shadows lurking everywhere:Some one came, and kissed me there.
Tired I was; my head would goNodding under the mistletoe(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe),No footsteps came, no voice, but only,Just as I sat there, sleepy, lonely,Stooped in the still and shadowy airLips unseen - and kissed me there.

Sunday, December 21, 2014

Today's final excerpt is from The Hell You Say, which is not necessarily what one thinks of as a Christmas romance. :-) I mean...devil worshippers, for one thing. But still, the holidays are central to this story.

BLURB:
Adrien English isn't really a detective, he's a bookseller and
mystery writer who has a knack for attracting real life mischief and
mayhem -- much to the displeasure of his sexy, sometimes-boyfriend,
closeted homicide detective Jake Riordan.
When bookstore assistant Angus falls afoul of a Satanic cult, Adrien
falls afoul of Jake -- but despite the fact that his amateur
sleuthing is playing hell with his love life, Adrien can't help but
delving into this case of kooks, cults, devil worship, and human
sacrifice.

EXCERPT:Bam! Bam! Bam!

I nearly dropped the can
of salmon I was opening for my supper.

The shop was locked for
the evening. That meant my visitor was probably one of two people -- and that
didn’t sound like Velvet’s knock.

I set the can on the
counter, wiped the fish oil off my hands. I opened the door. Sure enough, Jake
stood there. Clearly this wasn’t a social call.

“What the hell do you
think you’re playing at?” he said, brushing past me.

I was pretty sure he was
not referring to the missing food groups in my evening repast. “Oh, come on,” I
said. “Guy was just helping me --”

“Yeah, I know what that
faggot Snowden is helping you with. What part of stay the fuck out of it don’t
you understand?”

“This doesn’t have
anything to do with your investigation,” I said angrily. Which was not true,
although as far as I knew, Peter Verlane had not materialized on the cops’
radar so far, so technically I was not trespassing on Jake’s turf.

That’s what I told
myself, but it didn’t fly as well with Jake.

“You’re not that stupid,”
he said. “Then again, maybe you are. I go to the trouble of lying -- of
falsifying police reports -- to keep you out of this shit, and you turn right
around and walk back into it.”

My heart slipped into
heavy, slow punches against my rib cage. “Give me a break,” I said. “You didn’t
lie to protect me. You lied to protect yourself. You never asked me what I
wanted. And I sure as hell never made you any promises about what I would or
wouldn’t do.”

His finger jabbed the
air, punctuating his words. “Stay. Out. Of. It. Or this time, bad heart or not,
I will throw your ass in jail.”

“No, you won’t,” I said.
“You wouldn’t want to risk anyone discovering the connection between us.”

His face changed, grew
ugly, dangerous. “Are you threatening me?”

I hadn’t been, but like
an ember in dry grass, a self-destructive impulse flicked to life in my mind.

“My existence threatens
you.”

He shoved me back, hard.
I crashed into the hall table, knocking it over, smashing the jar of old
marbles I had collected. Glass balls skipped and bounced along the corridor. I
landed on my back, my head banging down on the hardwood floor.

I lay there for a second,
blinking up at the lighting fixture, taking in the years of dust and dead moths
gathered in the etched-glass globe. The silence that followed was more
startling than the collision of me and the table and the floor. I heard Jake’s
harsh breathing and a marble rolling away down the hall -- which seemed pretty
damned appropriate, since I’d apparently lost all of mine.

He bent over me. Probably
safer to stay submissively on my back, but I got up fast, knocking his hands
away. It was a protective instinct and maybe not a wise one. I hadn’t had time
to inventory what, if any real damage, I’d sustained.

Weirdly, neither of us
spoke. There was plenty to say, but no words.

Jake stared at me. In his
eyes, I read the urge to knock me down again, to punch, to kick, to silence, to
destroy. His hands were clenched by his side. I felt light-headed with anger
and outrage -- and yeah, maybe a little fear. He could probably kill me by
accident. My heart was tripping in my throat.

I was afraid if I tried
to speak I would cry. From rage.

He swallowed once, dryly. He looked
sick.

“I won’t tell you again. Stay out of
it.”

He went, shutting the door quietly
behind him

****

Ah...those holiday memories! Jake and Adrien have a Christmas coda right here.

Today's giveaway is the full set of Adrien English audio books to one lucky listener/commenter. You can also gift this set to someone else.

Saturday, December 20, 2014

Today is something simple. A poem and a couple of pictures. The poem is "In Excelsis" by Amy Lowell. We have been focused on Christmas romance over the past few days and somehow this spoke to me. The photos are by Kati Molin and Morgan Studio (licensed thru Shutterstock).

You -- you -- Your shadow is sunlight on a plate of silver; Your footsteps, the seeding-place of lilies; Your hands moving, a chime of bells across a windless air.
The movement of your hands is the long, golden running of light from a rising sun; It is the hopping of birds upon a garden-path.
As the perfume of jonquils, you come forth in the morning. Young horses are not more sudden than your thoughts, Your words are bees about a pear-tree, Your fancies are the gold-and-black striped wasps buzzing among red apples. I drink your lips, I eat the whiteness of your hands and feet. My mouth is open, As a new jar I am empty and open. Like white water are you who fill the cup of my mouth, Like a brook of water thronged with lilies.
You are frozen as the clouds, You are far and sweet as the high clouds. I dare to reach to you, I dare to touch the rim of your brightness. I leap beyond the winds, I cry and shout, For my throat is keen as is a sword Sharpened on a hone of ivory. My throat sings the joy of my eyes, The rushing gladness of my love.How has the rainbow fallen upon my heart? How have I snared the seas to lie in my fingers And caught the sky to be a cover for my head? How have you come to dwell with me, Compassing me with the four circles of your mystic lightness, So that I say "Glory! Glory!" and bow before you As to a shrine?
Do I tease myself that morning is morning and a day after? Do I think the air is a condescension, The earth a politeness, Heaven a boon deserving thanks? So you -- air -- earth -- heaven -- I do not thank you, I take you, I live. And those things which I say in consequence Are rubies mortised in a gate of stone.

Friday, December 19, 2014

From LONE STAR, part of the Men Under the Mistletoe holiday anthology.

Blurb:

Growing up in rural Texas,
Mitchell Evans's ambition to be a dancer made him a target. Though he found
success in New York City,
Mitch is at a crossroads, and heads home for the first time in twelve years to
figure things out. When what appears to be a reindeer jumps out in front of his
car, he drives off the road and into the path of the one man he hoped to avoid.

The last person Texas Ranger Web Eisley
expects to see four days before Christmas is his first love. He hasn't seen
Mitch since they quarreled over coming out to their friends and family years
ago. Though he's not in the closet now, Web has worked hard for the respect of
his fellow officers, but he still regrets the loss of Mitch in his life. And
his bed.

The attraction between them is as strong
as ever, and it doesn't take long for the men to pick up where they left off.
But is love enough to keep Mitch in town in the New Year?

EXCERPT:

A
lone star blazed in the midnight blue sky.

It
looked like the Christmas star, which was appropriate seeing that it was four
days till the holiday, but with Mitch’s luck it was more likely a crashing jet
plane headed straight for him.

Incoming.

Yeah,
that would be about right. On the bright side it would spare him driving any
more miles down this long, dull stretch of memory lane. Texas looked only minimally better at night
than it did in the day. Nothing but rugged, ragged landscape. Igneous hills of
limestone and red rock as far as the eye could see—which wasn’t far, given the
darkness beyond the sweep of the rental car headlights.

Mitch
rubbed his bleary eyes. This was more driving than he’d done in years. He
didn’t even own a car anymore. New York had decent public transportation and
when Mitch wasn’t working he was—well, he was always working, so problem
solved.

Prickly
pear, yucca, and juniper bushes cast tortured shadows across the faded ribbon
of highway. A mighty lonesome stretch of country, as they’d say out here.
Cemeteries were more plentiful than towns. He wasn’t entirely alone though.
Outside of Fredericksburg a pair of headlights had fallen in
behind him and they continued to meander lazily along a few miles back. Some
cowboy moseying on home, though not in any hurry to get there.

That
made two of them.

It
was six months since Mitch had got the word his old man had keeled over and
he’d have happily waited another six months—or six years—before dealing with
what his father’s lawyer euphemistically called “the estate.” But after the
blowup with Innis, Mitch had desperately needed time and space. And one thing Texas had in plenty was space.

Speaking
of space, the star twinkling and beaming up ahead could have fallen right out
of the state flag. It was the biggest star in a night field of stars. A beacon
burning in the night. Mitch blinked tiredly at it. He hadn’t slept on the
plane, hadn’t slept in nearly forty-eight hours. Not since he’d walked into his
dressing room to catch Innis with his pants down. Not a euphemism,
unfortunately. Innis’s excuse —

Up
ahead Mitch caught movement in the middle of the road. Headlights picked out
the gleam of eyes. A deer. A very large deer with a huge rack of antlers. An
eighteen point—no, not a deer. Mitch’s eyes widened. A caribou. In Texas?

What
the hell?

A
caribou…in Texas…wearing a red leather harness with
bells?

A
reindeer?

He
was asleep. He had fallen asleep driving.

Mitch
wrenched the wheel. The tires skidded off the road onto the rocky shoulder. He
tried to correct but over-steered. Instinctively, he slammed on the brakes, the
car spun out. It did a wild fouetté across the highway, tipped over the side,
and rolled once. The airbag exploded from the dashboard. The car landed upside
down in the sand and gravel beneath the embankment.

Dust
and powder from the airbag filled the interior. The engine died as the car
rocked finally to a stop. The passenger door had flown open. Mitch could smell
oil and antifreeze and cornstarch and singed juniper. The airbag hissed as it
deflated. Or maybe that was the radiator leaking. Or the sound of four tires
simultaneously going flat.

“What
was that?” He wiped the airbag talc residue from his face. His eyes and skin
stung.

It
had happened so fast. So fast there hadn’t even been time to be afraid. And at
the same time it had seemed to occur in slow motion. Like watching a film or
seeing it happen to someone else. Really weird. Maybe that out-of-body
sensation was shock.

In
movies, of course, flipped cars promptly burst into flames. That didn’t seem to
be happening here, which was good news. He took quick stock.

Neck
and shoulders felt wrenched. No surprise. The web of seatbelts was cutting into
his chest and hips. Other than that, he seemed to be unhurt. Shaken, bruised,
but nothing serious. He could safely move without risking further injury; and
probably the sooner, the better.

Reaching
around, Mitch fumbled with the clip, and unlatched his seatbelt. He wriggled
free of the shoulder strap, landing awkwardly on the ceiling interior. He
crawled under the gear box and beneath the passenger side, scrambling out the
door.

The
dry, cold desert air was a jolt. Mitch drew in a deep lungful and it tasted as
sweet, as fresh as his first ever breath. He was alive. Maybe his luck wasn’t
as bad as he’d been thinking.

Climbing
to his feet, he stumbled up the embankment to the highway. He was relieved to
see the vehicle that had been tagging along behind him for the last thirty
miles pulling to the shoulder, tires crunching gravel. Mitch waited in the
glare of the headlights.

The
door of the large white SUV swung open and Mitch glimpsed official insignia.
Public Works? Parks and Wildlife? Highway Patrol?

But
no, the man coming toward him wore a cowboy hat and a leather coat with a
sheepskin collar. The headlights illumined his tall, rangy silhouette; it was
too dark to see his features. He moved well, though. He moved like a cowboy—a
real cowboy, not the movie kind—a long, easy stride with the little swing to
it.

“Howdy,
friend.” The cowboy had a deep, unhurried voice shaded by that familiar
homegrown accent. “You need an ambulance?”

“I’m
okay. I think my car’s a goner, though. Did you see what happened?” Mitch
hugged his arms to try and stop his shaking. The temperature couldn’t be much
above the low thirties and his jacket was somewhere in the wreck below.

“I
saw you swerve and then lose control.” The cowboy was already sidestepping down
the embankment to get to the crashed sports car. “Was there anyone else in the
vehicle with you, sir?”

Not
Water and Power, by the look of it. But not regular police. Even in Texas the regular police didn’t swagger
around in jeans and boots and cowboy hats. Mitch might have forgotten one or
two things about the LoneStarState, but not that much. Unless he was very
much mistaken, it looked like he’d snagged the attention of a real life Texas
Ranger.

“No.
No one. I’m by myself.”

The
cowboy wasn’t taking his word for it. He reached the flipped car and knelt,
checking the interior. He rose and went around to the other side. Mitch lost
sight of him for a moment or two. When the cowboy returned to view he had the
rental car keys.

He
scaled the ascent in a couple of long strides and returned to his own vehicle.
The dome light flashed on and Mitch could see him speaking over the radio. He
hugged himself tighter, waiting. He should have known what a mistake this trip
would be.

When
the cowboy had finished his report he ducked out of the cab and started back
toward Mitch. “You have your license with you, sir?”

“Yes.”
Mitch added – because he felt he had to say something and the cowboy didn’t
seem to be the chatty type, “Did you see the deer?”

“The
deer? Is that the story? You were avoidin’ a deer?”

The
story? Mitch glanced at the empty road. “ That’s what happened. I saw the deer
and swerved. I…It must be someone’s pet. It was a wearing a—a—”

“A
collar?” The cowboy repeated politely as he reached Mitch. Mitch was six feet,
tall for the average dancer, but the cowboy was taller by a few inches. It was
a very long time since Mitch had needed to look up at someone to speak to them.

“Er,
yeah.” He wished he could read the other man’s face.

“You thought you saw a deer in a collar? What
kind of collar would that be, sir? A rhinestone collar? A fur collar?”

Great.
Maybe you couldn’t always find a cop when you needed one, but there was never a
shortage of assholes. “There’s a deer farm around here, right? There used to
be. It could have escaped from there. It was wearing one of those—”

“Collars.”

“No.
Actually, it was a harness. For pulling a…” Self-preservation kicked in.
“Something.”

“A
somethin’?” Mitch could see the gleam of the cowboy’s eyes. He had a suspicion
he was going to be providing belly laughs around the old bunkhouse that night.
The cowboy’s tone was still perfectly polite. “I see. Did y’all maybe have a
drink or two this evenin’, sir?”

“Of
course not. I don’t drink.” Although maybe he’d make an exception tonight.

“Uh
huh. You were takin’ this stretch of highway at a mighty fast clip.”

“I…I
guess so. I was in a hurry to get where I was going.”

“And
whereabouts is that, sir?”

“The
old Evans place off Highway 16.”

In
the silence that followed his words, Mitch could hear the ever-present wind
whispering over the sand like some ghostly oracle. The cowboy went so still he
seemed to stop breathing.

“Mitch?”
he said at last in a flat voice. “Mitch Evans?”

Mitch
stared back into that faceless shadow.

It
couldn’t be.

It
was.

The
muscles in his neck and shoulders locked so tight he wasn’t sure he could move
his mouth, let alone his head. Any time he had envisioned this encounter, it
hadn’t gone like this. As a matter of fact, it had gone with him managing to
avoid the encounter.

How
had he failed to instantly recognize—? But in twelve years a boy’s voice
deepened considerably and a boy’s light frame filled out and even the way he
held himself changed. Mitch found his own voice. “That’s right. Web Eisley, is
it?”

“I’m
flattered you recollect.” Web didn’t sound flattered. Mitch couldn’t blame him
for that. The last words they’d spoken to each other had not been kind ones.
But that was twelve years ago and grown men didn’t hold grudges. Or if they
did, they tried not to show it.

“I
remember.” His voice sounded as toneless as Web’s. He made an effort to sound
more personable seeing that he was standing at the scene of an accident with a
Texas Ranger who he’d once called a “fucking gutless coward.” Among other
things. “Well. It’s been a while.”* * * *Christmas coda here.

Thursday, December 18, 2014

Ryo had probably
had worse Christmases. He couldn’t remember one though.

First, he had to
work. That was a drag, but he was new man on the totem pole at Barton
and Ross Investigations, so fair enough. He was the guy pulling stakeout duty
on Christmas morning. Somebody had to be. Too bad because it was his and Kai’s first holiday as a couple, but he
could wait a few hours to see what goodies Santa brought him. Except what Santa had
brought seemed to be strife and unhappiness.

Ryo shifted
position behind the wheel of the sedan. His butt ached from sitting for hours.
Though not as much as his heart ached.

You were supposed
to be honest with the people you loved, right? You didn’t tell them lies to
keep the peace or make life easier on yourself. So when Kai had started in about
how Laurel and Ojiisan were forcing
Kenji to spend Christmas with them, Ryo had intervened.

“Dude, you have to
think about what’s best for Kenji,” he had said.

“I am thinking of
that!” Kai had snarled. He was pacing up and down the living room floor, past
the towering Christmas tree piled with gifts and toys for his little son. “It’s
our first Christmas together.”

“Yeah, so you’ve
said about a dozen times now. But if Kenji wants to be with his mother and
Oji--”

But Ryo did not
say that. There were some truths you could not ever share. Instead he said,
“Look, what do a few hours matter? He’ll be here the day after Christmas,
right? He’ll love it. He gets two Christmases for the price of one.”

“It’s not the
same! This was our first Christmas. You’re not going to be here. Now Kenji’s not
going to be here.” Kai whirled away again and started another lap of the
festively decorated room.

He’d gone all out.
It looked -- and smelled -- like Santa’s Village in there. Garland
and candles and a couple of life-sized reindeer statues. Whatever. If it made
him happy, it made Ryo happy.

But then disaster.
Laurel had called to say Kenji now wanted
to spend Christmas day at home. He was worried that Santa might not find him at
his father’s or some such excuse. The thing was, Kenji didn’t really need an
excuse. Not in Ryo’s opinion. If he was happier waking up Christmas morning in
his own bed, well, he was the little
kid after all. Kai was just going to have to swallow his disappointment.

But he had not
swallowed his disappointment. He had been ranting and raving for nearly an hour
when Ryo had made the mistake of trying to reason with him.

In Ryo’s opinion, not
only was it not fair to blame Laurel and Ojiisan for this change in plans, it
wasn’t healthy. Yes, it was Kai’s turn to have Kenji spend Christmas -- more
than his turn -- and yes, Kenji would have had a great time. He usually ended
up having a great time, even if he always arrived shy and uncertain and a
little reluctant. But that was beside the point. The kid didn’t want to
be there. And that wasn’t anyone’s fault.

Or even if it was partly the fault of Laurel and
Ojiisan for those years of keeping Kai from his son and creating this unnatural tension…there wasn’t any point
dwelling on what couldn’t be changed. Right?

“It seems to me
like you’re more concerned with what you want than what Kenji wants,” Ryo said.

Kai had gone
perfectly silent and perfectly still. When he turned, his face was bone white
and his eyes were red and glowing. Okay, not literally red and glowing, but if
Kai had been drawing himself for a manga -- Blood Red Christmas -- his eyes would surely have been red
and glowing.

“What?”

Ryo said, “All I’m
hearing is how disappointed you are.
You’re not five years old, Kai. So next year, maybe he’ll be ready to spend
Christmas Eve over here. And in the meantime you’ll have the day aft--”

And he had.
Stopping only to grab his car keys, he had flung out of the house and driven
away into the rainy gray afternoon. Without so much as a jacket.

“Good!” Ryo had yelled
as the front door slammed shut.

Peace and quiet at
last.

Ryo got a beer out
of the fridge and made himself a sandwich. Maybe after lunch, he’d have a nap.
He would be working all night and it would be wise to take advantage of this lull in the storm. But he couldn’t
sleep. Every time he glanced at that giant Christmas tree sparkling and alight,
the embodiment of all Kai’s anticipation and hopes over these past weeks, his heart
felt heavy.

He hated Kai being
so hurt and disappointed, and maybe that was one reason he hadn’t been patient
enough. He couldn’t fix this and so he wanted it not to matter so much to Kai.
He wanted him to be reasonable and wise. But Kai was not reasonable and wise.
Well, sometimes. But he was also headstrong and impulsive and emotional.

Kai did not call
and he was not home by the time Ryo had to leave for work.

Ryo didn’t think
he was in the wrong, but he did think he could have handled things better.
Anyway, he hated quarreling with Kai, and quarreling during the holidays added
a special level of awfulness to it. So he scrawled SORRY xoxo on a post-it-note
and left it stuck the fridge door.

That would be Ellison, Ryo’s
relief. He checked his watch. Nine thirty.
Shift over. And not a peep out of his phone all night. He checked his messages
to be sure. But no. Nothing. Not a word from Kai.

He started the
engine. He could always drop by his mom’s and spend Christmas morning there. If
Kai wasn’t home…well, that was going to be pretty damned depressing. Or if Kai
was there but still wanting to fight, that would be worse.

For a few moments he sat watching the rain, car engine idling, then he drove home.

* * * *

Kai’s car was in
the garage, so Ryo knew he was back. That was a relief. More of a relief than
he wanted to admit, in fact.

The house was so
quiet, he thought Kai must still be sleeping. And that could either be a good
sign or a bad sign. There were no lights on, no music. The Christmas tree was a
dark form in the gloom.

Ryo tiptoed
through, heading for the bedroom, stopping only to plug in the Christmas tree
lights. In the sudden dazzle of blue and red and green and gold he was startled
to spot Kai huddled on the sofa. Kai looked straight at him. His eyes were dark
in his haggard face. He said nothing.

“What is it?” Ryo
went over to him, sitting down on the sofa, pulling Kai to him. He was thinking
death and disaster at the least. Their earlier quarrel was forgotten.

Kai shook his
head, but he leaned into Ryo. He was not crying, but there was something so
sad, so heartbroken in his silence, that tears would have been a relief.

“Tell me,” Ryo
said softly.

Kai moved his head
in negation again, but he said into Ryo’s chest, “If you’re not on my side,
then I have no one.”

“I’m always on
your side. Always. You don’t want me to lie to you, do you?”

He felt Kai
swallow. Kai said in that same smothered voice, “I don’t know. No. Only sometimes.”
Ryo smiled faintly.
Kai said, "I do want what's best for Kenji. But if I don't push this -- he's my son. He doesn't know me. I don't know him."
"I know. But you can't force it." Ryo kissed the top
of Kai’s head. He smelled like he had been out in the rain for a long time. He
felt chilled. His own Ice Princess. But now he knew the ice was a thin and too
fragile shell. “I am always on your
side. I guess the truth is, I can’t stand it when anyone hurts you. I didn’t want
it to matter so much to you because there isn’t anything I can do about this
situation.”

“I don’t need you
to do anything except…"

"Except what?"

"Be the one I matter to.”

Ryo’s heart
squeezed. “Kai-chan. You do matter.
You matter more than anyone or anything.”

And that was the
truth. Ryo wasn’t even asking for it to be true in reverse. Because if that
wasn’t what love was about -- putting someone else first -- what was it?

He
held Kai quietly, safely in the soft, prism of many-colored lights, and it was
enough.

Wednesday, December 17, 2014

Today's Advent Calendar is another photo that I hope will inspire you to write something of your own. It can be a jokey try or a serious try. That's up to you. You can use my characters (GULP) or your characters. Whatever inspires you is fine by me on this rainy December morning.

On offer is the "winner's" choice of audio, print or ebook from my backlist. But the real giveaway is simply the pleasure and satisfaction of taking a few moments to do something creative during this hurried, harried time of year.

So here we go again, Write a paragraph or so about what you imagine is in that box. Who is giving? Who is receiving ....?

Tuesday, December 16, 2014

I'm working on another couple of codas, but I decided I probably needed a couple of health and welfare days where I did not put my creative brain to use. So today's calendar is again looking at Christmases past. Only instead of childhood, I'm thinking of adolescence.

How did Chrismtas change once you were in your teens?

When you're a small child, it's all so simple. People know exactly what to get you, and you are in the delightfully uncomplicated situation of not needing to reciprocate. Ever. At all. It is enough to merely show your delight. Even showing disappointment is still acceptable in very small child cases. And of course most of us still believed in every holiday-related fantasy. Not only believed, were untroubled by thoughts of unlicensed flying reindeer, small foreign peoples forced to work in a sweatshop with only gumdrops for payment, and strange bearded men observing us while we were sleeping and waking. We were immune to calories and indifferent to alcohol.

Even from a religious standpoint, well, it's all about Baby Jesus. The promise and not the pain.
But then came adolescence.

In adolescence we know some hard truths. Starting with the Fat Man. And what is worse, if you're a kid of my generation, were the advertisements that began to skew our expectations and understanding of what Christmas should and could be. We began to compare our holidays with those of friends. We began to measure our real life against the life on TV and the movies. We began to want and wish for things that Santa could not deliver: friendship, popularity, romance...etc.

Maybe our family didn't celebrate Christmas.

Heck, sometimes we had to WORK on Christmas.

We began to reject traditions and it was still a bit too soon to have anything to replace them with.

Or was it?

What was Christmas like in your teens? Were the holidays full of teenaged angst? Or were they still merry and bright? Share a holiday memory or two.

Today's randomly selected commenter wins their choice of story or collection from my audio backlist.

Monday, December 15, 2014

Today we have an excerpt from one of my personal favorites, Snowball in Hell. I'm not sure if it really qualifies as a "holiday" story, but the holidays are certainly an important part of the novella. Anyway, here's a bit of bittersweet vintage mystery from the 1940s.

BLURB:

It's Christmas 1943 and
the world is at war. Journalist Nathan Doyle has just returned home from North Africa--still recovering from wounds received in
the WesternDesert Campaign--when he's asked to
cover the murder of a society blackmailer.

Lt. Matthew Spain of the
LAPD homicide squad hates the holidays since the death of his beloved wife a
few months earlier, and this year isn’t looking much cheerier what with the
threat of attack by the Japanese and a high-profile homicide investigation.
Matt likes Nathan; maybe too much.

If only he didn’t suspect
that Nathan had every reason to commit murder.

EXCERPT:

Spain
proffered a pack of Camels. Nathan took one, and Spain
leaned forward to light it for him. Spain’s
hands were large and well-shaped. His lashes made dark crescents against his
cheekbones. As though he felt Nathan’s stare, he raised his eyes -- and Nathan
couldn’t look away.

He stared into Mathew Spain’s
long-lashed hazel eyes, and he realized with sudden terrible clarity that Spain
knew all about him. Knew exactly what he was. Knew it as surely as though
Nathan’s ugly history were an open file on his Spain’s
tidy desk. In fact…Nathan glanced at Spain’s
desktop as though somehow the explanation could be found there, because how did
Spain
know? How? Had it become that obvious? Like a scarlet letter branded into his
skin -- or the mark of Cain?

Hot blood flushed Nathan’s face, and
just as quickly drained away, leaving him feeling light-headed. He drew back,
drawing sharply on his cigarette. He sat very straight.

Spain
flicked his lighter closed, put it away. He seemed to be in no hurry.

“Why am I here?” Nathan asked,
blowing out a stream of blue smoke. His voice was just about steady.

“Why didn’t you mention you were with
the Arlen kid on Saturday night?”

“I wasn’t with him,” Nathan said. “I
ran into him at the Las Palmas Club. We had a drink together.” He shrugged.

Spain leaned back in his swivel chair and rubbed his chin. “Listen, Sir
Galahad, it might interest you to know that the lady in question didn’t mind
throwing you to the wolves. She said it looked to her like you were pretty
angry with Philip yourself. Like you were mad enough to kill.”

“She doesn’t know me very
well.” Nathan studied the ashes on his cigarette.

Saturday, December 13, 2014

Which was a clue
to how tense he was about the upcoming Christmas dinner with his father and his
father’s new wife. Walter usually liked Carey’s sense of humor.

“I don’t think
everything is a joke,” Carey said, surprised.

“Of course you
do.” That was so unfair it almost seemed like Walter was trying to pick a
fight. Which really was out of character.

Carey didn’t enjoy
confrontation and he sure as hell didn’t want to fight with Walter, so he was
quiet. Walter turned away and walked to the frost-edged window of the apartment,
staring bleakly out at the night. In the raw silence, Carey could hear the
departing wail of distant train.

“Maybe you
shouldn’t go,” Walter said finally.

“Go?”

“Come. To
Christmas,” Walter said tersely. He turned to face Carey, his gold-rimmed
spectacles glinting blankly, his expression withdrawn.

It was unexpected
and painful. So painful that it took Carey a moment to say, “Look, Walt. I…know
how to act in public. I’m not going to chew with my mouth open or talk about
what we do in bed.”

Walter’s
expression went tighter, closed like a fist.

“I
don’t…understand,” Carey said at last.

“I’ve changed my
mind,” Walter said with the same cold preciseness he used to use back when he’d
been Dr. Bing’s teaching assistant rebuffing all slackers and goof-offs. “I
don’t think it would be a good idea for you to come with me. You can go to your
parents, correct? They’ll be happy to have you stay for a few days. We both
know you’ll have a better time there.”

Carey swallowed.
He was afraid the sound was audible. But Walter’s expression did not change. He
was not going to relent. He did not want Carey to go with him. It was that
simple. Simple as an arrow through the heart.

Carey said
stiffly, “In that case, maybe I should just leave tonight.” He couldn’t imagine
lying next to Walter in that perfectly appointed bedroom with all this between
them. Hurt. Anger. Bewilderment.

“I think that’s a
good idea,” Walter said.

* * * * *

Was it over?

Carey wasn’t sure.

They had been
together for a little under a year. Walter loved him. He loved Walter. There
was no question of that. There was no question that they were happy together.
But Walter could be odd. Odd and hurtful. And Carey wasn’t sure that love was
enough.

Four months ago
Walter’s father had abruptly remarried. Walter had attended the small, private
civil service without Carey. It had sort of bothered Carey, but he had
understood. There was no love lost between Walter and his father.

“Believe me, you
don’t want to go,” Walter had told him at the time.

“I want to go if
you want me there.”

“I don’t want you
there,” Walter had said.

That was Walter at
his most bluntly honest, but Carey had forbore to take offense. The little
Walter had shared about his childhood had been alarming to someone who had
grown up in a big, noisy, affectionate clan like Carey’s. No wonder Walter had
a few, well, intimacy issues.

When Walter had
returned, he had said the wedding went smoothly and that he thought his new
stepmother would suit his father. Carey had not pressed for more information.
He was not sure he wanted to know.

But this was
Christmas. Their first Christmas together. This mattered to Carey. Not least
because they had both been invited to spend it at Walter’s family estate. And
they had accepted. Together. As a couple.

Otherwise they
could have spent it at Carey’s family -- where they would always be welcome
with or without formal invitation -- together and as a couple.

Instead they would
be celebrating Christmas apart. And Carey wasn’t completely sure if they still
were a couple or not. Was Walter ashamed of him? Did Walter really think Carey
would make inappropriate jokes or use the wrong fork or…

Or was it
something else?

Something even
worse?

Who knew with
Walter?

This time Carey
didn’t feel like being understanding or patient. It took him less than fifteen
minutes to pack his suitcase (later he discovered he’d forgotten his
toothbrush) and headed straight for the front door.

Walter was still
staring out the window at the black and starless night. He didn’t turn around
and he didn’t say anything to stop Carey.

“Have yourself a
merry little Christmas,” Carey said bitterly. He regretted that crack later,
but at least he refrained from slamming the door.

* * * * *

Christmas day
passed without a word from Walter.

Carey had told
himself he wasn’t expecting to hear from him, but the letdown was something
akin to discovering Santa had skipped your zip code. His family showed unusual
discretion and tactfully didn’t ask.

It was a nice
Christmas. It was a Christmas like all the Christmases that had come before it.
And probably all the Christmases that would come after. The thing that would
have made it different, remarkable, memorable was Walter.

He stayed over the
weekend. Walter wasn’t flying back until Monday anyway, so there was no reason
to hurry home.

On Monday Carey debated
staying over another night, but it was starting to feel like he was hiding out.
If he didn’t go home, he needed a reason, and that reason would have to be
there was something seriously wrong between him and Walter.

If he went home
now, they could pretend it had just been an ordinary, run-of-the-mill argument.
Carey wasn’t sure he was ready to face it being more than that. Once he’d
stopped being so angry, he’d started missing Walter. He still loved Walter.
Doubts about the future didn’t change that.

But sooner or
later they were going to have to face it. Whatever it was.

* * * * *

The minute Carey
unlocked the front door, he knew Walt was home.

The apartment was
silent, but the silence had a living, breathing quality. Relieved, Cary
pushed open the door and walked inside.

There was a neat
tower of expensively wrapped red and green parcels on the chrome and glass
coffee table. His own gift to Walt, a plum-colored cashmere pullover, hung over
the arm of the sofa. All other signs of Christmas had been cleared away. Walt
was in the kitchen making a grilled cheese sandwich.

He looked up at
Carey’s entrance. “How was your family?” he asked.

“Fine,” Carey
said. “How was yours?”

“Fine.” Walter was
unsmiling and serious. But that was usual for Walt.

“Did you have a
nice Christmas?” Carey asked.

“It was all right,”
Walter said politely. “How was yours?”

Carey opened his
mouth. But he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t play the game, couldn’t be a part of
this. He wasn’t built like Walter. His former relief that everything could go
back to normal vanished -- because this was not normal.

“I missed you,” he
said. “But I guess I better get used to that.”

Walter’s pale,
bony face reddened. “Carey --”

Carey waited but
Walter didn’t go on.

Carey let out a
long weary sigh. He hadn’t realized how tired he was. It was the effort of
holding back all that sadness and worry. But there was no holding it back now.
“That’s what I thought,” he said.

“What did you
think?” Walter turned off the stove and came across the kitchen to Carey, but
Carey put a hand up to stop him. Walter did stop. He looked stricken.

“Carey,” he said
in a very different voice.

“I don’t know any
way to explain it that I’m not going to sound childish or petty,” Carey said.
“But this isn’t about where we spend the holiday. Or how we celebrate, except that
holidays are for spending with the people we love.”

“Next year we’ll
spend it with your family,” Walter said quickly.

“No. I don’t think
we will because…” Carey swallowed but made himself go on. “I’m not sure we’ll
be together next year. I don’t think we will be.”

Walter put a hand
out to grip the back of one of the kitchen table chairs--as if Carey had
punched him. No, more like as if Carey had delivered some mortal blow. “Of
course we’re going to be together,” Walter said. He sounded almost frightened.
“I love you and I know you love me.”

“I do,” Carey
admitted. “But I just spent the five most unhappy days of my entire life. And I
don’t even know why.”

“Why what?”

“Why it had to be
that way. You shut me out -- and not the first time -- and there’s no debate,
no discussion. It’s just the way it is. And then when you decide to open the
door again, everything goes back to the way it was. Except now I’ll be waiting
for the next time the door slams.”

Carey stared at
Walter, seeing the jump of his adam’s apple jump, the little nerve pulsing in
his cheek. He seemed unaware his fingers were digging into Carey’s forearm. Walter
kept himself in tight check all the time. Only with Carey did he ever let his
guard down.

“I love you and I
don’t want to lose you,” Walter whispered.

It killed him to
hurt Walter. “I love you too, but we’re already losing each other if we can’t
be honest.”

“Wait. Listen to
me,” Walter said. “Just…listen.”

Walter didn’t go
on, but Carey listened anyway. And he did feel like there was some kind of plea
in Walter’s struggling silence.

“Walt,” he said
helplessly. “Talk to me.”

“I don’t want you
to see me like they do,” Walter burst out. “I don’t know why you love me, but
you do. And I don’t want you to stop. I know it’s not logical. It’s not
rational. But I don’t want you to change toward me.”

Relief washed
through Carey. This was one explanation that had not occurred. Maybe it should
have, knowing even the little he did about Walter’s childhood. He was still a
little angry, but now it was on Walter’s behalf. “I’m not going to change.”

“You don’t know
that.”

“Of course I do.”

Walter shook his
head. “Sometimes, even now, it’s a struggle for me not to see myself like they
do.”

“You have to have
some faith in me.”

“I do. This is
about not having faith in myself.”

Carey said
carefully, “But it’s also about not having faith in me and what I feel for you.
I don’t want a stack of expensive presents. I want you. All of you. The good
and the bad. The real you. Isn’t that how you want me?”

Walter said
instantly, “Of course.”

“Buying a bunch of
presents is like something your dad would do.”

Walter looked
startled and then dismayed. “It wasn’t like that. I just want you to feel
appreciated.”

Carey started to
smile. Relief and happiness were filling that hollow ache he’d had for the past
five days.

About Me

Josh Lanyon is the author of over sixty titles of classic Male/Male fiction featuring twisty mystery, kickass adventure and unapologetic man-on-man romance.
Her work has been translated into eleven languages. The FBI thriller Fair Game was the first male/male title to be published by Harlequin Mondadori, the largest romance publisher in Italy. Stranger on the Shore (Harper Collins Italia) was the first M/M title to be published in print. In 2016 Fatal Shadows placed #5 in Japan's annual Boy Love novel list (the first and only title by a foreign author to place on the list). The Adrien English Series was awarded All Time Favorite Male Male Couple in the 2nd Annual contest held by the 20,000+ Goodreads M/M Group. Josh is an Eppie Award winner, a four-time Lambda Literary Award finalist (twice for Gay Mystery), and the first ever recipient of the Goodreads Favorite M/M Author Lifetime Achievement award.